


you're angelic in every way

by stormss



Series: boys made of space [3]
Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, just something soft and sweet tbh!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 16:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10620603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormss/pseuds/stormss
Summary: Their nights are full of laughter and freedom; mornings are their muted reprise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi again friends! apparently i literally can't stop writing about them, because i miss them and love them, so. yeah. 
> 
> the title is from _cadillac_ by miguel.

Dizzee feels in-between, sometimes. 

Like he's here but he isn't; like he's half-on-Earth, half-in-space. An alien on the streets of the Bronx, a boy floating amongst the stars. On one hand, he has his constant. His parents humming as they fold laundry together, his brothers bickering down the hallway, his sister hogging the phone or the turntable or both — it's all  _home_. He loves the fact that on any given day, at any given moment, he could walk into the Kipling household and know exactly what would be waiting for him. 

But when he's with Thor, everything he ever knew turns on its head. 

There's this boy with this gentle confidence, this desire to find freedom. He hides behind his hair sometimes, but he always looks at Dizzee like he matters and that's something that will never cease to make Dizzee wonder what he did to deserve this. This softness; these moments that make his heart pound, like a caged bird trying to break free.

If home is his constant, then Thor is his reprieve, his way out. Thor's apartment becomes this new frontier to explore, and Dizzee finds something new whenever he builds up the courage to spend the night. The scrapped poems hidden under disco fliers taped to the walls; empty spray cans dumped into milk crates; various hair ties and silver rings scattered over random surfaces. When they first got together, Dizzee had doodled Rumi and Thor together, hands stretched out toward one another, the city painted in silver hues below them. In a moment of being honest with his feelings, Dizzee had scribbled _revolution tastes of your lips_  in a purple magic marker. 

Thor has it up on his wall above his bed, hanging with pride. 

Their nights are full of laughter and freedom; mornings are their muted reprise. 

It's a Saturday or Sunday, Dizzee can't remember, and he wakes up to rain splattering against the window. He loves the rain, he's made of rain, maybe, and he watches the droplets roll down the panes of glass for at least twenty minutes. The room smells faintly of acrylic and cigarette smoke, and he feels Thor stretch out beside him after a while. He hums a little, burrows into Dizzee's side, arm still loosely thrown over his body. 

"Time s'it?" Thor mumbles, and Dizzee moves his eyes from the rain to Thor, a boy made of sunshine. His hair's kind of wild in the morning, strands over his eyes, and Dizzee pushes some of it back as he looks over Thor's shoulder to the clock.  _8:09_. His parents have accepted that with his age he won't be home every night, but he still feels he should be back to help with the shop when he can. 

But then Thor kisses his shoulder, and he looks angelic in the golden-blue light of the room, staring at Dizzee with those eyes. He's enraptured for a moment, and when he blinks his eyes and properly comes to, Thor's sticking his tongue out at him and snapping a photo of him with his camera.

Dizzee's family's got one; his mom loves taking photos, loves sticking them on the fridge. She avidly scrapbooks, too, documenting her children's lives from their day of birth and so on. Her proudest work is a family portrait of them standing in some orchard when they went out for a family afternoon a few years back. Dizzee's drawn the people in the photo countless times in his sketchbooks, it's like a ritual whenever he has the spare change to acquire another book, but they've changed so much in the short amount of time it's hard to capture their actual personalities. Usually he draws himself as Rumi — but then again, what's new? 

But Thor's got his own camera, and though he says he's low on film he's got some beautiful photos around his apartment, and Dizzee loves to stop and stare at them. 

(That's something else DIzzee hadn't noticed at first, either. The candid shots of Thor and people Dizzee didn't know, friends and parties and kissing couples under moonlight. There's a woman that looks an awful lot like Thor in one of them, the only one that's framed. Dizzee wants to ask, but he can't. They're all stunning, and the first time he sees a shot of himself, focused on a piece at the pier, he doesn't even recognize himself). 

"I look like shit," Dizzee complains, once he realizes that it's too late to cover his face as the flash goes off. 

"Impossible." Thor shoots back easily, as he sits up to wait for the photo to develop. He shakes it a little, though Dizzee's mom's told him enough times that it doesn't actually make it go quicker. The photo finally comes into focus, and Dizzee smiles because Thor smiles. He admits he does look kind of nice, the morning light hitting his face from the far side, creating some shadows on his features.

Dizzee then notices that he somehow has a smear of pink paint down the side of his face, which he rubs at until it chips off as Thor rises from the mattress. He uses a thumbtack to stick the photo near the bed — near the drawing he's so proud to have. 

Then, Thor stretches out as he stands, arms up above his head, making every muscle in his back contract and then ease again. Dizzee's itching for something, anything, to draw with. But then the moment's gone, and Thor's grabbing a faded shirt from his drawer. 

"I'll make some coffee," Thor says, jutting a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the tiniest kitchen Dizzee's ever seen. He nods, and sits up himself, stretching. He pulls on his jeans, and despite the rain the humidity is already too much, so he holds off on the shirt. He just slings it over his shoulder, and pokes around in Thor's room as he throws his few belongings in his bag. 

Then he perks up, because he hears music coming from Thor's direction. 

It isn't recorded, either — it's the real sound of the strumming of a guitar, clear as day. Dizzee follows the tune out to the hallway, the muscle memory as to where the floor creaks already registering. He walks toward the kitchen, and smells the coffee, and gets a peek at something he never thought he'd see: Thor, with a guitar in his hands. 

He's leaning against the countertop, plucking the strings. He strums out some sort of melody to a song that sounds vaguely familiar, and Dizzee grins. He thought Thor only listened to disco, the fast-paced dance music that set a light under your skin. This was almost folky, melodic, rocky. It's a completely new side of Thor, and it makes him want to learn more. Dizzee leans against the doorframe, and Thor jumps a little when he notices he isn't alone. He immediately puts the guitar on the ground. 

"Don't stop." Dizzee insists, stepping forward to pick up the guitar. Thor moves past him, hand casual on his arm as he squeezes by to pour out the coffee into chipped mugs. 

"It wasn't anything," Thor mumbles, tucking some hair behind his ear. "And it's totally out of tune, anyway." 

"You still sounded  _good._ " Dizzee looks at him pointedly over his mug. Thor rubs the back of his neck, before sighing. 

"Maybe next time? It has to be good." Thor says, spooning a little more sugar into his coffee. 

"Why? Art is supposed to be about what you feel." 

Thor looks to the ground. "And that's the point, I guess. I mean, like, I'm kind of writing something? For you. And I want you to hear it when it can fully show you what I feel." 

Dizzee's noticed that Thor talks with his hands a lot. It's endearing, and a habit he's even picked up. His hands now, though, are still with nervousness. Dizzee puts his mug down and takes those hands in his own, moves the pad of his thumb over the other boy's knuckles.

"Okay then, when you're ready." Dizzee whispers, and then he pulls on Thor's hands. Thor looks at him, and Dizzee thinks: _angel._  Maybe they would be angels together. 

"When do you have to go back home?" Thor asks, because it's always on their minds. Dizzee's been lucky, coming over late and leaving early, but at some point his parents might decide they've had enough.

"I should head back now." Dizzee glances out the smaller window in his kitchen, sees the rain lightening up. 

Thor hums a little, nods. Watches as Dizzee pulls the shirt he'd thrown over his shoulder actually  _on_ , and then Thor straightens it out for him. "Will I see you soon, Dizz?" 

Dizzee thinks it over quickly. He wants to see Thor in two hours, but he should give some devoted time to the shop; maybe help around the house a bit. He's also got some tag ideas he wants to play with, and he knows the best spot. 

"How about tomorrow night, at the pier?" 

Thor smiles. "I better get writing then, huh?" 

Dizzee wants to kiss him. Then he realizes he _can_ , so he closes the space between them and presses his lips to Thor's. He's good with experience, but Dizzee's starting to catch onto little tricks. He kisses him deeply, winds his fingers through some of Thor's hair. He pulls back and feels flushed himself, so he ducks his head, bends to tighten his shoelaces. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Rumi." Thor says, and Dizzee nods happily, gives him a look with promise and sincerity clouding his irises. Then Dizzee's off, bounding down the stairs outside his apartment, stepping out onto the street. The air smells clean and he feels reborn as the last of the rain trickles down from rooftops onto his skin, cooling the fire a little. 

As he gets to the train station, he realizes that he might finally be truly happy. 

 

\- - -

(The next night, at the pier, Dizzee gets his song. And his retaliation, since he brings the family camera with him. When Thor's laughing at some dumb joke, music softly playing, Dizzee stands over him and gets a photo. It develops as Thor pulls him down to the mattress, and they look at it together. Thor looks beautiful in the photo, hands thrown over his face and his eyes squeezed shut as he laughs, paint smearing over his skin, his collarbones just barely in the shot. 

Dizzee falls a little more in love, and he comments that now he gets a picture, too. And then they kiss, again and again and again, until the gods up above sing their praises). 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, as always, for reading! 
> 
> come cry w me on [ tumblr! ](http://bi-kipling.tumblr.com/)


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